Grandparents

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Language

Another Language

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Do your grandchildren speak another language?

One different from yours?

So different, you simply don’t understand?

Like three of mine.

Starting life in Russian.

Hearing lullabies in Russian.

Stories in Russian.

Conversations in Russian.

That’s when I lean on my body and theirs.

Cues, hints, signs.

Smiles, nodding heads, closing eyes.

Coos, clicks, giggles.

So I become a mirror.

Curling lips upwards, crooning back.

In high-pitched notes mothers use with babies.

Or, I attend when they cry or whine.

Absorbing their distress as mine.

Supplying comfort, solace.

By toddlerhood, we both point, nod, shake heads.

I listen to the strange string of words.

Parse them for meaning.

Label an object or two in English.

Offering my language to them.

Seeking balance.

Between understanding and not.

By school years, they traverse two languages.

Our back and forth, easier.

But, in truth, words are never enough.

The body reveals the message.

Eyes, mouth, hands, stance.

Exquisite give and take.

Grandparent-child dance.

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 30, 2024

All Poems, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Humor, Santa Monica 3/24, Stories, Trips and Places

Why Do You Always Wear a Hat?

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Why do you always wear a hat? asked Arthur.

As we prepared to walk to the park.

Well, to protect from the sun’s rays, I stated.

Adding, to protect my head from bird poop.

Thinking of the time a pigeon pooped on my hat in Madrid.

As I walked to Corte Inglés.

Arthur said nothing, thinking.

Then, could a bird poop on your hat and your head at the same time?

No, I answered. Not if I wear a hat.

He continued, could it poop on the brim?

It could, I nodded.

What would you do? he asked.

I’d wash the hat.

He went on, how about if it pooped on the flower?

Referring to the faux flower atop my Tilley.

Again, I said, I’d wash it.

What would you do if the bird pooped on your hair?

I answered, I’d wash my hair.

At which point, Arthur turned to his mother.

Requested she please find his cap.

Not for fear of UV rays,

but prevention of poop mishap.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 21, 2024

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Love

Day of Anticipation

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The day of anticipation has arrived.

Packed, ready to go.

Awaiting arrival of two grandkids.

Whom Grandpop would ferry here by train.

Once their school day, done.

You might ask what the anticipation is.

The trip to Quintana Roo?

Activities planned?

Warmer climate?

For me, not.

Rather, the sentiments of the children.

Traveling together.

To an unknown land.

Undiscovered adventures.

Different climate.

The place, schedule, weather

could be anywhere on earth.

It’s witnessing the children,

their wonder, for me, the worth.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 20, 2024

All Poems, Family, Food, For Children, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Humor

You Should Know Better

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You should know better,

Elias said to his grandfather.

Handing me two spinach leaves, and a fork.

What’s this? I asked.

He started to explain.

Grandpop put my fork in the salad when you took my plate.

Oh, I acknowledged. He mixed the dressing with the tomato sauce?

Yeehs! Elias said.

Turning up volume on yes.

Adding a slight extra syllable to the word.

So, you want me to toss out the spinach?

He nodded.

Wash the fork?

Please, he said.

I did both.

Returned the fork.

So he could finish his meal.

Grandpop should know better.

He’s a doctor, said the child.

We all burst out laughing.

Total reason quite exiled.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 8, 2023

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Family, Grandparents, Humor

Visiting Day, Bob’s Perspective

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I can’t believe I pulled it off, said Bob.

Falling into bed.

After our first day back from the Netherlands.

Jet lagged.

Rushing to do all those first-day-back things.

Unpack.

Wash clothes.

Shop for food.

As well as prepare to go for visiting day.

At Galil, where two children waited.

For us and their mother.

So, order a sushi snack.

Pick it up.

Pack drinks.

Napkins.

Plastic ware.

Dessert.

Drive to Trenton.

Meet Roseanne.

Drive another hour to camp.

In rain, floods.

A tornado watch.

Spend time with the children.

Eat.

Laugh.

Listen.

Drive Roseanne back to Trenton.

Through downpours.

To make a 7:08 pm train.

Dropping her off at 7:06.

Heading back to Elkins Park.

To bake rising dough.

Roast just picked eggplants.

Bob pulled it off in relentless rain.

Sleep rhythms out of accord.

A driving marathon in older age.

With electric car, he scored!

 

Lynn Benjamin

July 18, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Humor, Museums, New York, Trips and Places

Manhattan Sunday

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Manhattan has always been a frequent destination.

Close, exciting, lots to do.

Before children, the old fourteenth street.

Full, then, of Spanish language bookstores.

Restaurants with Iberian specialties.

Later on, after grandbabies, a place to go to help.

Wheel strollers, grab a meal during naps.

Today, the youngest, almost ten.

His sister, almost fourteen.

The mission, to keep them company.

While mother performed in a concert.

Was it possible to do a real Manhattan Sunday?

Or, at least, the image in my head?

Brunch at two.

At a typical eatery, the Lex.

On Lexington Avenue, between 90th and 91st.

Eggs Benedict and salad.

Amazing! exclaimed Elias.

A stroll through the Cooper Hewitt.

Museum of design.

Exploring power dynamics, how to pursue peace.

Botanical lessons, art nouveau of Hector Guimard.

Immersion room’s digital images.

Finally, a meander through Central Park.

Among dog walkers, joggers.

Athletes practicing baseball, soccer.

Picnickers and bikers.

Let’s enjoy the park, said Elias, licking ice cream.

Eyeing activities around us.

Seating himself on a bench.

We grandparents following suit.

People watching, chatting.

Then onward to meet our daughter.

After a classic Manhattan day.

Perhaps the only possible tweak.

Musical matinée on Broadway!

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 2, 2023

 

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Cousins, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Siblings, Sleep

How to Make Room

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At the table, my son and his wife ponder.

How can we make room for additional guests?

Two siblings and a few more children?

So they can see each other?

So the cousins can recognize kin?

So they can frolic?

For my son and his family had traveled far.

From Los Angeles to Montreal.

Then by car to Vermont.

Finally, Burlington to Philadelphia.

To our three-bedroom condo.

With an extra room in the basement.

All spaces already filled.

Grandchildren on all levels.

Including on the floor of the master bedroom.

How to fit yet more?

Put another mattress on the basement floor?

Consolidate the infant with his parents?

Thus, freeing a bed?

Who was willing to sacrifice comfort?

For connection?

Though the outcome isn’t clear,

siblings work on what to do.

Calculate possibilities.

Beds and mattresses review.

As they think on it and brainstorm,

my mind somersaults in play.

Remembering George Herbert:

Where there’s a will, there’s a way!

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 19, 2023

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Family, For Children, Grandparents, Humor, Puerto Rico 2023, Trips and Places

Mosquito Land

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Time to go to mosquito land, said Grandpop with gloom.

As he crossed the yard to enter the outdoor bathroom.

Since the indoor version was in use.

It wasn’t exactly an outhouse.

But a modern WC, with toilet, tiny sink, light.

Excellent plumbing.

Except mosquitos lay in wait.

For their next meal.

So, if you decide to use it

cause the indoor one’s occupied,

prepare yourself to be luscious lunch.

For thirsty mosquitos in there hide.

 

Lynn Benjamin and Elias Modell

February 22, 2023

 

All Poems, Death, Emotions, Family, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Spirituality

Homecoming

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We arrived home late last night from Málaga.

After two long, smooth flights.

To Zev, who waited patiently.

Having rushed from California the day before.

To sit by his grandmother’s side as she passed.

Reminiscent of old homecomings.

When parents greeted us after long trips.

Eager to hear the tales.

Instead, stood Zev, role reversed.

Glad to listen.

As well as tell his own.

His journey to honor his grandmother.

Be in the room next to her.

Set up a shrine in tribute.

A lit candle, three bowls.

One water, one rosemary, one nuts and seeds.

Even a chocolate square.

As well as a vase.

Of lilies, daisies, chrysanthemums, carnations.

Arranged to appeal to the soul’s senses.

Smell, taste, color, touch.

Accompany the spirit on its way.

She would have loved that.

Loved that her grandson cared so much.

Loved that she is remembered.

Thought about, talked about.

Given kuved.

For kuved is what made her proud.

Most precious gift desired

from loved ones and their children.

Whom she taught, inspired.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 3, 2023

The Yiddish word Kuved  means honor and respect.

 

All Poems, Death, Emotions, Family, Farewell, Grandparents, Loss

Death Waits for No One

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I learned an important lesson, Zev said.

Through tears behind his KN95 mask.

As he sat with my mother-in-law.

Alone in the room.

But surrounded on online with faces.

Tuning in and out as they came and went.

An aunt, two brothers, a sister.

Nieces and nephews, parents.

I learned an important lesson.

Death waits for no one.

For he had rushed from San Francisco to Philadelphia.

To be with her when she passed.

Knowing she contracted Covid.

Was declining rapidly.

But, he missed the moment of death.

By about an hour.

I wish I’d taken an earlier flight, he lamented.

The rest of us, far away, consoled him.

Reassured him he did the best he could.

Not fully convinced, he led a grief session.

Asked each of us to share a thought.

A memory.

A poem.

A prayer.

Which we did.

As he focused the camera on her sallow, lifeless body.

Held her hands through gloves.

Shared how he remembered those hands.

And cried.

The thirty-seven-year-old for the ninety-seven -year-old.

Grandson for grandmother.

Pulling everyone together

though each situated afar.

In a circle to both remember

and to bid her au revoir.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 2, 2023